Coming into the Clan
by TheDwee
Summary: A young man is bitten by a werewolf and is trying to deal with turning into one. Can he stop the urge to kill family and friends? More to come soon....Rated M for later chapters


James entered his apartment. His hand searched for the light switch on the wall. With a **Click** it switched on. Illuminating his room in ghostly florescent light. A yawn escaped his tired throat; he quickly covered it with his hand. The door behind him silently closed as he treaded over towards the lonely recliner. It was a tattered, old, and flattened piece of furniture. Not that comfortable on the eyes, or the body for that matter. But he sat in it all the same. Slipping his work boots off, letting them knock to the floor. Dirt and reminisce spread out over the floor. A tired sigh escaped his lips. Eyelids covered dark hazel eyes, shading them from the dim lighting. Soon enough he had fallen asleep. The one thing he didn't want…

A shady figure roamed the streets. No. Not a figure, an animal. A hunter. A killer. The wind blew, scents shuffled in the nights air. Scents of old New York. The people, places and other things. Constant sound. Even when things were quiet he could hear them. See them. Feel them. Hunger gripped at his stomach propelling him onward for meat. His powerful muscles rippled under his dense fur. Something caught his eye. Movement. Another shadow in the darkness, a victim. He stalked her, crouching down low in an alleyway. Aware off all of the things around him. A puddle at his clawed paws made him shiver a little. That and the rush of the kill, she turned towards him, a questioning look in her eyes. She couldn't see him through the shadows. She must have been curious. Something made her come closer. A low growl escaped his throat. But that wouldn't save her, nothing would now. Within a flash his hard muscular body was on top of her. His fangs buried themselves deep in her throat. Blood gurgling as the last of life was choked from her. A scream still echoed in the night.

James awoke with a start. His heart racing, breathing labored as he scratched at his own chest. His hands finding his tattered black shirt a sigh of relief left him as he noticed his surroundings. The lights around him didn't seem as bright. But it wasn't night as he had thought. He glanced over at his watch. It read: 9:07 A.M. "I'm late!" he grunted rolling his eyes and quickly turning to spin himself out of his chair. He nearly tripped on his own boots. "Dimmit!" he said catching himself before he fell. It was nearly 9:30 A.M. before James finally took the last look at himself in his bathroom mirror before he left his dingy apartment. "You look fine…just fine" he reassured himself straightening out his collar and the ruffles in his new shirt. He glanced out the small bathroom door and onto his bed where his shredded shirt now lay. He swallowed nervously, not remembering what he had done the night before. Turning back to the mirror that hung over the sink. He examined himself. His soft hazel eyes stared back at him. His features were handsome, soft eyes, shy smile, and dark brown hair. His overhanging brow hinted toward intelligence and strong cheekbones were a sight to behold. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Nothing wrong on the outside at least, he wondered what was wrong with him on the inside. His eyes were drawn to the bandage on his arm, the one that covered a large gash. 'Damn stray dogs…' he thought, though in the back of his mind he knew that it was something else. Something much worse, no dog could have ever been as big as the one that bit him. The night happened a few weeks ago, he was walking to his truck. Like he did every night. It was dark; the streetlight wasn't exactly working properly. That he remembered well, for it flickered on and off. The next thing he knew a low growl hissed from behind him. He turned on his heals, only to be attacked. Leapt upon, instinctively he covered his face with his arms. Which is when the dog bit down hard into his flesh. He screamed in pain, in agony. James quickly shook the memories from his head that was not a pleasant night to remember.

Vision blurred from the mirror as he glanced down at his watch. It read 9:35.

'Better go' he thought taking the last final look at himself in the mirror. 'As good as I'm ever going to get'

The dark navy blue pickup rested in the parking lot below apartment number 53. The paint was worn and faded near the back fender, windshield cracked in the upper right corner. It was an older model Chevy but it worked as good if not better than any other car or truck James had ever had. Plus it was his fathers, which added to the sentimental value, seeing in how his father had passed away quite some time ago.

The parking lot was nearly empty by now. Though it was only 9:30 in the morning, the city never stopped working, not even to sleep.


End file.
